


Up Straight in the Sunshine (Wonderful Life)

by philippcarlyle



Series: Golden 20's Criminal Barlyle [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV), The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: A LOT OF DIALOGUE, Banter, Crimes & Criminals, Fluff, Horse Racing, M/M, P.T. doesn't like Tommy Shelby, Phil is observant, adventurous barlye, criminal barlyle are domestic, don't let it fool you, the title is misleading, they are so married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 21:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13797069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philippcarlyle/pseuds/philippcarlyle
Summary: Oneshot for Barlylebased off this tumblr prompt: 12.“This is weird. Even for us. And that says a lot.”





	Up Straight in the Sunshine (Wonderful Life)

**Author's Note:**

> basef off a prompt on my tumblr
> 
> as per usual, unbeta'ed and I am not a native speaker
> 
> enjoy!

“Where do you think, you are going?”

“Get a drink, obviously,” the shorter man replies and doesn’t stop in his tracks. He drops his jacket over a luxurious sofa. The peaked cap sits on top of it.

“Business isn’t through yet, nothing stronger than beer.” P.T. reminds him.

Philip leaves and comes back within minutes, carrying two beers in his hands and a frown on his face. P.T. gestures to the man opposite of them. Philip sits down and slides one glass over to their possible business partner. Thomas Shelby is a cunning man with cold eyes. They are already associates for trafficking. Weapons are still a good deal, even with the war being over. Someone is always fighting, after all. Especially within the so-called Empire. Philip is sure they sold more to their clients in Ireland than overseas.

“Mr. Shelby, it is a pleasure to meet you again,”Philip greets the man, who only a few years older than himself. He looks like it, too. Must have been the war, Philip assumes.

“Thanks for having me. I heard that the business your little ‘family’ got is increasing rapidly.”

Oh, there we go. Philip hides his disapproval of Shelby’s jab against his family. They might not be connected by blood, as the inner core of the Shelby family is, but they’re not of less value.

Besides him, he notices P.T.’s hand twitch. The older man isn’t fond of the ‘Peaky Blinders’. Mainly, because they don’t stop when murder is involved and P.T. may be criminal, but he got some basic principles which include to ‘draw the line at murder’. In general Philip agrees with that attitude. He would make exceptions, though. For his family, for his own safety. When he’s drunk, probably.

“It is, thank you,” P.T. answers with a polite smile that reveals too many teeth to be genuine.

“Now, as you know, gambling is prohibited.”

“So is murder.”

Whoops. Philip shoots the tall man a warning glare. They can only dare so much, especially with people all around them and a man like Shelby sitting in front of them.

“Touché. I’d like for our businesses to become allies on that branch too, if you know what I mean,” Shelby continues and takes a sip from the beer glass. He leans back on his sofa, the physical embodiment of confidence and power. Philip grows more uncomfortable with every minute that passes. He lightly nudges P.T. with his foot. Just a reminder to stay civil.

“Oh, I got you. Well I’m sorry to tell you, Tom Thumb has no interest to let that happen. He is grateful for the other alliance and looks forward to more profit and mutual support,” P.T. answers.

“Is that so? I fear I have to talk to him in person, then,” Shelby abruptly ends their conversation. He stands up and nods towards them. There is no kindness behind these blue eyes. Philip’s bad feeling only solidifies. They sit in silence for a while, Philip can hear P.T. exhale.

“What do you think, how long might we have control over the races?” the older man asks eventually.  Philip looks up from his shoes and shrugs. Horse races were one of their main incomes and Charles won’t be happy, if he really got a visit from the Shelby’s.

“Not sure. Charles got that, but Tommy Shelby is ruthless,” Philip answers. He lets his eyes wander over the people, who slowly migrate from the sitting areas over to get a good luck when the race starts. Philip likes horses and races, but he doesn’t like the people. The eccentric hats, the imported cigars, occasionally witnessing some elder males satisfying their needs with prostitutes in not-so-well-hidden corridors. It makes him sick.

“Yeah, we’ll see. Come on; let’s watch the race at least. I bet 100 bucks on A Million Dream.”

“What?! Why?” Philip chides him and rolls his eyes. At the same time, he isn’t surprised. A Million Dream is one of their family’s horses. Well, it’s Lettie’s pride and joy and the grey beauty belongs to her - but everyone associates the Thoroughbred mare with the Stratton family regardless.

“Philip, she’s going to win! It’s our gem,” P.T. illustrates with flying hands. He snatches his jacket and throws Philip’s cap over to the younger man.

“Doesn’t mean you have to bet on her,” Philip grumbles, but tags along.

...

“ _YES!_ ” The tall man jumps up and throws his arms around Philip. The younger man hurries to push him off and grins. A lot of people cheer and celebrate, some look annoyed. Philip still doesn’t like it, but at least P.T. is happy and shakes hands with some satisfied gentlemen.

“I told you, she’d win.” The older sings and prances over to collect his money, energy practically buzzing off of him. Philip shakes his head, but follows the man’s eager steps. Like he always does. P.T. chats at the booth, praises their horse and ‘oh, how lucky I was, can you imagine’. Philip can _just_ imagine it.

“Come on, we should leave.”

“Phil, don’t be such a killjoy.”

“I am not. Come _on_.” Philip mutters. They’ve been present at the race, completed their meeting and ensured the Stratton family’s position. There is no reason for them to stay.

“Make me,” the older man grins suddenly. Philip’s jaw drops. P.T. has finally ended his conversation at the crowded stand and now approaches him way too predatory. Defensive, Philip steps back. A bright smile appears on the tall man’s face, but Philip catches up on the mischievous glitter in his eyes. Philip braces himself, they can’t cause a scandal. They have a reputation. They are important.

“I will, if you stop that right now,” Philip replies in a hushed voice, not daring to look around. He doesn’t want to raise attention to them. Exasperated, he wraps a hand around P.T.’s arm and pulls him along. They pass an abandoned table with glasses. Philip fetches one that’s still filled with whiskey and swigs it lukewarm content down. They pass the next sitting group and small table. Without stopping he sets the emptied glass down, his focus still on the man right next to him. Who has the nerve to look around grinning and greet some men in fancy suits.

“Why are you so tense? We’ve got the rest of the day to do whatever we please.”

 P.T. lets himself be dragged along, although he throws one last glance back towards the racetrack. They walk in silence and Philip takes the moment to breathe and just think, what got him so stressed out. The younger man knows how to handle business meetings and he for sure knows how to handle Phineas. But something about today gives him an odd feeling – his mind confirms. Rationally, nothing happened, they knew how Shelby would react and Phil knew about P.T.’s bet although he made exasperated comments about it. Still, _something_ threw him off.

At once, they’re out of the inflamed atmosphere, away from the chatter and drinks and cigars, Philip stops. It causes P.T. to backtrack a bit and turn to face the shorter man.

“Lip? What’s going on?” Philip can hear the shifting tone. They’ve known each other long enough to differentiate all kinds of communication. P.T. figured something wasn’t right far earlier, but he didn’t mention it until now. His voice becomes low with concern.

“Is something wrong?” he’s dropped nearly to a whisper and if Philip wouldn’t observe their surroundings, he would see the joyful mouth twisted into a line of apprehension.

“I think these guys belong to Tommy Shelby,” Philip murmurs without looking at his partner. He trains his eyes on various people on the streets, putting one hand in his pants’ pocket to convey a relaxed-small-talk-image. P.T. shifts the slightest bit to follow Philip’s inclined head. On the other end of the street stand four men, smoking. Nothing suspicious gives them away to the passing eye, but P.T. picks up the shorter man’s thoughts on the instant. He nods and then grins.

“Let’s enjoy the sunshine for a bit and go for a walk. We can get someone to fetch the car,” he suggests. Philip agrees, trying to figure out the plan that clearly formed inside the colourful mind that belongs to P.T. In a shop’s window, Philip sees that the men slowly follow them.

“It’s possibly just a warning,” Philip says as they make their way over the pavement and enter a beautiful avenue. Phineas nods, he thinks so too. But:

“Yeah, and that could cost us my finger, or your foot. Or whatever. I don’t want to take a lot of bullets – again,” the older man states seriously. It causes Philip to grin in spite of the statement. That one time Phineas caught those bullets was not a warning that was for sure. Rather a punishment.

“Come, here.” Suddenly, Philip is pulled behind a tree. Sunlight streams through the chestnuts leaves and makes the city appear so much greener and _healthier_. Philip rolls his eyes, when he gets pushed up against the trees trunk.

“Are you serious? I’m gonna kill you,” he mutters against the tall man’s lips. Contradicting his words, he impatiently yanks P.T. closer. The tree and the busy racetrack keep prying eyes away from them and Philip let’s himself imagine for a split second – not having to hide, no fear about being seen together, maybe even holding hands in public? He nearly laughs out loud, but instead grins into a final kiss. How silly his thoughts become, whenever he’s with Phineas. Downright escapist.

“I know, that’s why I did that first.” He gets the cheeky response. Confused, Philip leans back against the tree. Phineas lets go off him and walks a few steps further to a – oh no.

“No.”

“Yes. It’s brilliant, come on.”

“I will not.”

“Please? For me?” the tall man tries, although he is distracted by lifting the manhole cover. Gladly, no one of the few people on the streets dares to stop them. Most people don’t even look at them and it has Philip shake his head. He could never be that unobservant. He isn’t allowed to do so either.

“Come on, it’s going to be fine – oh my God, that smells...”

Philip snickers at that and takes a tentative step forwards. He nearly climbs up the tree when he comes close enough to get a dose of the odour himself. Disgusted, he turns and is back at the tree. He doesn’t care, shall the Peaky Blinders come and chop off his toes or shoot him in the knee. Anything is better than going down that literal shithole.

 “This is crazy, can’t we just run like normal people?” Philip argues with a hand over his face to keep the smells from creeping up his nose.

“I admit, this is weird. Even for us. And that says a _lot_.” P.T. agrees, his grin indicating no regret.

“I’m so disappointed that I actually consider it,” Philip sighs. He risks a glance beyond the tree. The four men keep their distance, but Philip assumes they won’t wait for much longer. Better keep moving. He rubs his hands over his face and musses his hair.

“I hate you.” He tells the tall man as he passes him. P.T. sends him an astonished look, when the younger man crouches down besides the canal that leads to a whole hidden system. Philip tries to see something – anything – down there and fails. Determined, he stands up again.

“I really hate you,” he looks over to the four men, one of them came a bit closer as to see, what they are up to. They haven’t noticed the cover and the opened canal yet. If they wanted to make a run for it, they had to go now. Philip rolls his eyes and rises up on his tiptoes. With the most annoyed expression he can muster, he presses a quick kiss on to Phineas’ stubbly jaw. Then he climbs down the greasy steps that are attached to the duct’s walls. He tries to reduce his breathing to a minimum.

He hears the man’s deep chuckle and quickens his pace. In silence, paying attention to their steps and to make their way to the end efficiently, they only take a few minutes. They must be fairly deep down, Philip guesses. No sounds from the busy streets are heard and the light barely offers any sight.

“Phil, step to the side. Are you on the ground?”

“Just come down, there’s enough space.”

“I don’t want to step on you! Go further away!”

“How short do you think I am, you absolute ass?”

“Shut up and move.”

Philip sighs and steps to the side. Next to him, P.T. jumps down from the last handle-like step and grants Philip a blinding smile. Who needs sunlight? Philip thinks, he doesn’t.

“Do you have any idea where to go?” Philip asks and crosses his arms. Right now they only got two choices: either go left or right. But sooner or later there are going to be crossings and multiple options and Philip has no clue how big the undergrounds canal system really is. It must be enormous.

“Yeah, you don’t?” P.T. quips and rummages through his coat. Philip wouldn’t usually describe something regarding clothes as ‘rummaging’ but with all the pockets and the effort Phineas puts into the little task, it could as well be an archaeological dig.

“Aha!” the older man proclaims and Philip gapes, when he sees a candle. A fucking, 8-inches long, white candle. Philip doesn’t even want to know where, how, and why, at this point. He admits defeat. He exhales surrendering – and regrets the deep inhale that follows. Horrifyingly moist, damp and reeking air clouds his brain.

“Let’s just go, okay? They might follow us,” he prompts. Confronted with the dark tunnels, he pulls his jacket closer around him and sends a quick prayer for his shoes to survive this trip. P.T. lights the candle and confidently walks down the tunnel to their right. Philip hurries to go beside him. At least there is so much space they can walk comfortably next to each other. P.T. doesn’t even have to duck his head.

“We’ll follow this tunnel. It goes down Inchcape Avenue. You know where we are, right?” the tall man explains while illuminating their way. Philip sees his curious eyes explore the unpleasant place. If it were up to Philip, he would prefer to be fast and not stroll like P.T.

“I think so, yeah. So at the next possibility, we go left, yeah?”

“Exactly,” P.T. nods. Philip hums to himself, trying to map out their way. It’s strange to think about the city and where you are, when you are trapped beneath all its roads and houses.

For the first ten minutes, nothing happens but Philip listens carefully. He does not need some gang member sneak up on him and Phineas in a dark, stinking duct system. No, thank you. After fifteen minutes he calms down a bit. They haven’t heard anything alarming and except for two rats met nothing else living and moving in here. Philip’s eyes adapt to the dark and the flickering candle gives off enough light so they don’t stumble and fall.

Two more minutes and their shoulders brush. P.T. hums a foreign melody.

One more minute and Philip notices P.T. getting fidgety. Well, more so than usually. He stops his humming and the sudden silence gives Philip the creeps.

“Don’t even think about it.” Philip mutters. A cautious smile plays on his lips, hard to make out in the dim light. P.T. hears it in his voice. He still continues to drop his hand behind him. Hidden in shadows, Philip can just hear the lightest movements. Although he knows what to expect, the darkness adds an uncertainty to their motions and Philip jumps, when he suddenly feels a warm hand sneaking up his spine. Opposing Phineas’ hand, shivers run down Philip’s back.

“You aren’t as shrewd as you think, mister,” he grins and leans into the touch.

“You love me anyways,” P.T. smirks.

They reach another intersection with handles leading up. Phineas lifts the candle, but the light doesn’t reach the end of the uprising duct. He removes Phineas’ hands from his back with ease, lets their hands dangle between them, pinkies still locked together.

“I think that’s it.”

“I hope, you’re right,” Philip counters and braces himself. The bars look as greasy and repellent as the ones they climbed down. He rubs his hands together, before he steps closer. P.T. blows out the candle. The abrupt darkness throws Philip off and he takes a moment, to orient him and get a secure grip on the handles that make up a rusty ladder.

“Chop, chop, Philly,” he hears the tall man laugh and suppresses the urge to kick him. He scales up the first steps and once he found a good way to hold onto the handles, it’s a quick procedure. He can hear P.T. rustle beneath him, following up close.

Once he reaches the top, Philip gets a bit lost. How the hell are they going to get out?

“Can you – hold me?”

“Sure thing, let’s get out first.”

“No, now!” Philip grumbles exasperated. He needs someone to support him, if he has to lift the cover to get them out of the canals. P.T. chuckles and suddenly Philip feels a warm hand on his thigh. Oh.

“Gotcha, Lip. Now what?”

Philip can’t see what’s going on in the dark, but the older man’s voice is way too close to his lower body half. Yet, isn’t that what he asked for? At least he stands now securely and can lift his arms to the cover, that’s locked in place. P.T.’s grip on his thighs tightens and Philip feels his breath ghost over his lower back. With a dull thud the cover slips to the side. Blinding light meets Philips eyes and he quickly averts his gaze. Dark brown eyes meet his and Philip feels rather than sees P.T. placing a quick kiss to his clothed hip.

“Let’s get out,” he says. They climb up the final steps and Philip remains sitting right there on the street for a moment. He catches his breath and deeply inhales brisk, clean air. Well, not that the city’s air is particularly fresh, but far better than the duct system’s.

P.T. closes the manhole cover again and brushes some dirt off his clothes. They still smell like canal rats, both of them. Philip let’s himself be pulled up by the tall man and they instantly roam their surroundings with analytical eyes. No one looks too weird at them – everyone knows to mind their own business. Sharing a secretive grin, the men step on to the pavement and continue their way, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. It’s only five more minutes, until they reach their destination. Their home. Safety. What was that about being held? Philip is definitely ready for that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> If you enjoyed it and have ideas/suggestions for further works of this series, please let me know!


End file.
